


Takes Two to Make Curry

by RenderedReversed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Camping, Cryptid Voldemort, Curry Dex, M/M, Obliviously OP Harry, Pokemon AU, Warning: Pokemon Sword & Shield Spoilers, galar region
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21645022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: Just two dudes hangin' around a campfire, cookin' up some curry, sittin' real close but it's not gay.Or, in which curry master Voldemort is the legendary cryptid of Route 6, and Harry keeps coming back to his campsite because really, the man makes a mean curry.(It's not because he likes him or anything. No, that's just silly.)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 30
Kudos: 269





	Takes Two to Make Curry

There are two things the citizens of Galar unanimously take seriously:

The Gym Challenge—

And curry.

Harry, as a born-and-raised Galarian himself, is no exception. At the age of eleven he got his first Pokémon. At fourteen he was somehow accidentally endorsed to take the gym challenge. Two weeks later he'd won his first badge, and from there he'd tripped his way from Turrfield to Motostoke to Hammerlocke stadium, winning his battles by a hair's width—but winning. Somehow. Miraculously.

His luck lasted him all the way till the finals, when eventually the world realized his existence and figured a fourteen-year-old kid was probably not supposed to be standing in the same arena as Galar's top trainers.

(At least they didn't make him give back his gym badges.)

So, yeah. Been there done that. He still enjoys watching battles, still loves the cheering and the hype and the rush, but Harry's perfectly content to stay in his place on the stands for those, or on the other end of a television set. He's not cut out for a professional career as a trainer—and besides, being able to travel the region was a good three-quarters what he liked about the whole thing in the first place.

Which is why he's currently working as Professor Magnolia's research assistant.

(He still doesn't know how that happened. Maybe it's the gym badges? They _do_ let him get into some inconvenient places…)

 _Whi—ch_ brings him back to point two: curry.

Harry takes in a deep breath. He can feel the spice in his nostrils already, sweetened by a hint of pecha berry and apple. In the background is the soft scent of white rice cooking. He can just imagine how the two will combine—the warm rice absorbing the rich, savory flavor of the curry, enhancing the texture while adding a bit of reprieve from the heat…

But somehow, he feels like something's missing?

"Roseli berry."

Harry brightens. Yes! That's what it's missing! Not as overpowering as liechi but still richly fragrant—

"Texture's kind of weird in curry though," he muses aloud. "And if we add it in now it won't have enough time to soften up…"

In lieu of replying, his companion rummages through his travel bag and pulls out a tool Harry instantly recognizes.

A zester.

Harry has to swallow back his drool.

"Is that allowed?" he whispers, leaning closer, as if they're about to commit some illicit crime in the middle of the woods. "We're not breaking any rules, right? To only use the zest of a roseli berry…"

Voldemort gives him a flat look. Harry leans back with a sheepish expression.

Yeah, okay, maybe that's going a bit too far. Roseli berries might be expensive—so expensive he still might not believe they're eating one in the wilderness of Route 6 instead of, like, a posh restaurant in Hammerlocke or something—but it's not like the hypothetical culinary police are going to come after them or anything, right?

"What people don't know won't hurt them," Voldemort says seriously.

…Oh.

Harry mimes zipping his mouth shut and tossing away the key. Meanwhile, Voldemort pulls out of his ingredient sack a single roseli berry, zests it on the curry, and _then_ —

Slices it in half and squeezes it like a sitrus.

Right on top of the rice.

"!!!" Harry says.

"Secret ingredient," says Voldemort. He slants a glance at Harry. "Gives the rice flavor. Mix it in and add a dash of ground chesto for seasoning. Here, smell."

Harry _does_. He leans so close he's practically sprawled across Voldemort's lap, knees brushing and feet right up against one another's. But it's fine—there's no such thing as personal space when it comes to _curry_.

" _Wow_ ," Harry says.

Voldemort nods once, sagely, like he completely understands and he's proud that Harry, too, has reached this revelation. They bask in their culinary transgression a little bit longer before checking on the main star of the dish: the curry itself.

Voldemort hands him a ladle.

"Stir?" Harry asks.

"Stir," says Voldemort.

In the beginning, when Harry had still been but a lowly, ignorant camper who thought it was enough if he tossed in a couple berries to store-bought instant curry before calling it a dinner, he hadn't really understood what they were stirring for, or when to stop. But these were lessons learned with time—arguably the most valuable type of lessons—and while he might not be to the point where he could do it in his sleep like Voldemort, Harry was proud to say that at least he wasn't afraid of botching it up anymore.

He had awakened his 'curry senses', as his companion liked to say.

When they were done, Voldemort scrutinized the pot with a keen, discerning eye that could rival even a corviknight's. He held a ladle up, sniffed it delicately, and then set it back down.

"Not bad," he says.

(—which translates to a five-star Charizard Class dish in Volde-speak—a language Harry's proud to say he's at least conversationally fluent in.)

"Worthy of dinner?" asks Harry, grinning up at him.

Voldemort's mouth curls. A single, short nod. "Dinner."

They turn and call their Pokémon back to eat.

* * *

When Professor Magnolia sends him to study the ruins around Stow-on-Side, Harry never _intended_ to befriend the legendary cryptid of Route 6.

It just kind of happens?

Voldemort’s partner Pokémon stands in the archway. She’d probably sensed his presence a long time ago—hatterenes tended to do that—and had come out to the very edge of the ruins to greet him. Harry admits that he’s still not the greatest at navigating them; they’re built like a maze and extend far underground, too. He’s thankful for the help.

…It’s also a sign that Voldemort still wants him around.

The Silent Pokémon stands still as a statue, watching him. Tall and thin with a silhouette faintly resembling a witch—even among her kind, she’s different: an off-coloration that makes her paler than every other hatterene he’s ever seen—almost like Voldemort himself, Pokémon and trainer sharing that same, spectral sort of grace.

Harry thought he’d been a ghost the first time he’d seen him. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one; the rumors about Route 6’s cryptid had existed long before he’d put a name to a face.

But the man, much like his Pokémon, isn’t (for the most part) as scary as he thought he was…once you got to know him. Studious, unused to talking—getting better, though, with Harry around more often—with a penchant for getting lost in his thoughts, but there are worse flaws a person could have. Voldemort might be short on words, but Harry can fill in the space.

He’s looking forward to seeing him again.

When he finally climbs the last ladder down, Hatterene is still there waiting for him. Her discerning gaze says nothing. Harry smiles at her regardless.

“I came back! With more ingredients.” He motions to his extra bag, filled with not only supplies for himself but also the things Voldemort told him to fetch when he said he was going back to town. “How have things been here? Okay?”

It’s not like the ruins can just get up and move, but Hatterene treats his question seriously. She dips her head and makes a soft chime. Briefly, he can feel her psychic power ripple across his skin, but it lasts no more than a second—just long enough to convey peace and ease of mind.

Then, she turns and drifts into the maze of the ruins, claw floating at her back like a tail.

Harry follows.

They happen upon Voldemort in a large, open room. It must’ve once been some meeting hall or place of importance, for a faded mural decorates one of the walls from end to end, and the light falling in from one of the cracks where the ceiling had tumbled is just enough to illuminate it.

Harry sets down his bundle beside Voldemort’s things. He gives Hatterene a small wave as she retreats, going to stand guard or do whatever she does—for a partner Pokémon, she is as free and unfettered as one of the wild. To be fair, her psychic powers are so strong that she can probably sense—and therefore, remove—any signs of danger before either of them can recognize it.

He comes to stand beside Voldemort. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

This particular mural depicts giant Pokémon as the subject of worship for the people who had once lived here. Sandaconda, centiskorch—something that looks like a snorlax, too.

It’s the mystery that Harry was sent here to study: how ancient the history of Dynamax goes…

Before a way to harness the powers of wishing stars was developed by Professor Magnolia—i.e., before trainers were able to Dynamax their Pokémon at will—it isn’t like Dynamax didn’t exist. There’s records all over Galar of Pokémon turning into huge, titanous forms of themselves. But how it was done and why had been long lost to the sands of time.

Harry brushed his fingertips against the faded paint.

“The Darkest Day,” Voldemort says suddenly, his voice raspy with lack of use. Harry had taken around a week to run his errands and restock on supplies—probably, he hadn’t spoken since they last said goodbye.

“The disaster of a thousand years ago?”

Voldemort makes an agreeing sound. “Yet, no one wonders…what came before.”

Before the Darkest Day. Harry turns back to the mural.

All they really know about the Darkest Day is how it tied into the unification of Galar. How a great, black storm eclipsed the region and threatened to swallow it, but was stopped by two heroes wielding a sword and a shield. They defeated the disaster and became the new kings of Galar…

Artifacts dating to before the disaster are rare and hard to come by. Even these ruins—still a mystery in many ways, for the people who lived here and why they left are still unknown—date to after the fact.

“What do you think,” Harry asks carefully, “came before?”

His companion blinks once, slow, as if his eyes stung from staring at the mural for too long. “Rain signifies the end of a drought.”

Harry stares, not quite understanding. Still, Voldemort does not explain. He extracts his gaze from the mural and looks to Harry.

“Hungry?” he asks.

Harry brightens.

They go to the underground berry grove. Voldemort was the one to discover this place. Located in the middle of the ruins, the trees were planted in an atrium with an open ceiling to let the light fall in naturally.

He reaches up for a mago berry, but the branch it’s on is a tad too high. Harry frowns and gets up on the tip of his toes. Almost got it—

And then he feels the press of Voldemort’s chest against his back, sees a pale hand pull the branch lower within reach.

“Oh!” Harry says, “Thanks.”

He quickly picks his prize and Voldemort lets go. Harry tilts his head back. His companion is a little over a head taller than him, and this close, it makes him feel—small.

Voldemort’s red eyes glance down at him.

The look translates to ‘leave the high branches to me’—or something like that. Harry averts his eyes and feels a little self-conscious. He just wanted something sweet…but maybe he was a little hasty…he’ll restrain himself next time…

Voldemort moves away, perhaps satisfied. Harry takes a peek at him. He hasn’t gone far—just the next tree over—and he’s…pulling down a branch?

Voldemort looks at him expectantly. Harry starts.

“I pick?” he asks, pointing to himself.

Voldemort inclines his head. Harry walks over and squints up, deliberating his choices.

Something light for lunch…lum for a refreshing bite, hondew for a slight tropical taste. And then rawst to balance the mago berry’s sweetness?

They go from tree to tree, Voldemort letting Harry choose as he likes and obligingly pulling the higher berries within reach. Harry feels a little bit like a kid in a candy store. He flushes at the thought and tries valiantly to ignore it—even if it feels nice to be cared for…

When they’ve gathered a decent handful for lunch, Harry shows his choices to Voldemort and awaits inspection.

“Not bad,” his companion says after looking them over.

Harry beams. “Got good taste, don’t I?”

“More like a sweet tooth,” he says, but doesn’t recommend any alternatives.

Since Voldemort seems willing to make him in charge of lunch, he does so, commandeering the campfire and using some of the fresh ingredients he’d bought. This time, instead of apples, the main ingredient is coconut milk.

The camp soon smells like a sweet and spicy tropical barbecue. Harry’s so focused that it’s only when his arm bumps into Voldemort’s does he realize how close they’re sitting.

It’s less noticeable at night when it’s cold and it’s only natural for people to huddle up together, but its broad daylight now, and the fire is warm enough to smother any chill. Voldemort wasn’t teaching him anything and Harry certainly has no excuse to sit on the same side as him—but somehow it had been the natural seat to take. He fumbles with the ladle.

Voldemort saves it from having to be fished out of the curry.

Harry coughs. “Thanks.”

Instead of handing it back to him right away, however, his companion takes a spoonful of curry and brings it up to his mouth, taking a small, tentative sip. Every action is slow, careful, deliberate. The jut of his thin wrist, the light tap of his long fingers against the metal handle. Voldemort tilts his head, considering.

Then his tongue darts out and licks away the rest of the curry on his lips, faster than a salandit could blink.

It’s…surprisingly cute??

Harry twists away to stop himself from staring. He busies himself with plating two plates of rice, and if his cheeks are a little red, then it’s definitely because they’re so close to the fire and _not_ because of anything else.

He turns back around just in time to catch Voldemort in the middle of stealing a second bite.

A silly grin stretches across his face. “You like it then?” Harry asks slyly.

Voldemort shoves the ladle back at him. “It’s decent.”

He looks grumpy at being caught. Harry laughs.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Shut your thoughts up, then.”

“Wha—I don’t even think that’s possible,” Harry protests, but Voldemort taps him on the knee twice—warning, expectant, maybe a little of both; the translation’s murky—and it makes him plate the curry anyway.

“Does that mean I’ve graduated from assistant to chef now?”

“Now that I’ve confirmed your cooking won’t kill us,” Voldemort agrees.

“Hey now, I was never _that_ bad,” he complains, but in comparison to what Voldemort’s used to eating, it probably was.

(Not that he’d ever tell him that.)

They eat with only the barest of banter, mostly because Harry’s too paranoid he’ll say something embarrassing and Voldemort seems pretty preoccupied eating. And, yeah, Harry’ll admit it: he can make some damn good curry now. The accomplishment makes him smile wide.

And if they stay shoulder-to-shoulder throughout the meal, well.

There’s no one around who’ll say anything.

* * *

...

**Corviknight (Normal)**

|  | 

**Pokedex Entry**  
  
---|---|---  
  
|  | 

This Pokémon reigns supreme in the skies of the Galar region. The black luster of its steel body could drive terror into the heart of any foe. With their great intellect and flying skills, these Pokémon very successfully act as the Galar region's airborne taxi service.  
  
**Hatterene (Normal)**

| 

**Voldemort's Hatterene (Shiny)**

| 

**Pokedex Entry**  
  
| 

| 

It emits psychic power strong enough to cause headaches as a deterrent to the approach of others. If you're too loud around it, you risk being torn apart by the claws on its tentacle. This Pokémon is also known as the Forest Witch.  
  
**Sandaconda (Normal)**

|  | 

**Pokedex Entry**  
  
|  | 

When it contracts its body, over 220 pounds of sand sprays from its nose. If it ever runs out of sand, it becomes disheartened. Its unique style of coiling allows it to blast sand out of its sand sac more efficiently.  
  
**Centiskorch (Normal)**

|  | 

**Pokedex Entry**  
  
|  | 

When it heats up, its body temperature reaches about 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit. It lashes its body like a whip and launches itself at enemies. While its burning body is already dangerous on its own, this excessively hostile Pokémon also has large and very sharp fangs.  
  
**Snorlax (Gigantamax)**

|  | 

**Pokedex Entry**  
  
|  | 

Gigantamax energy has affected stray seeds and even pebbles that got stuck to Snorlax, making them grow to a huge size. Terrifyingly strong, this Pokémon is the size of a mountain—and moves about as much as one as well.  
  
**Author's Note:**

> I told my buns that if I did start writing for the hp fandom again, I'd want to start with snake face Voldemort and here we are. Pokemon AU, take three.
> 
> (SwSh is the cutest Pokemon game and all I want to do is MAKE CURRY WITH PEOPLE AAAAAAAAAAAAAA)
> 
>  **Edit:** Added more Pokedex entries (Corviknight, G-Snorlax) that I'd forgotten


End file.
